


Hickory Dickory Dock

by drelfina



Series: Sucks to be Q [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Genetic Engineering, M/M, One Shot, Pets, Rat!Silva, Surprise!James, fine here comes the 00Q bits., mouse!Q, silva is a rat, sucks to be Q
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/pseuds/drelfina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Q is bought, he doesn't know what to expect, not really. </p><p>He still doesn't know what to expect now, but he doesn't think it's supposed to be <i>this</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rikacain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/gifts).



> A gift for Rika, because she's sick. <3 Get better soon bb.

Q squeaked when the car hit a pothole, jolting in place. 

He KNEW what it was, of course, just a pothole, but his siblings caught the sound and squeaked in fear, trying to see what was wrong, and even though Q knew it was just fear pheromones, fear and stress, without their calming dam's presence none of them were able to calm down by themselves. 

"Shut up, damn you," the driver snarled, and that just made it worse. 

By the time they arrived at their destination, everyone was all stressed, sweating with it, and squeaking hoarsely when the driver came to drag them out from the back. 

"Out you get, damn it," The driver grunted. The woman watching the shipment was not impressed. Q blinked at her, rubbing at his eyes. The place seemed large, white and shiny but he couldn't see very well, not in detail, and drifted away from the others. It took effort to walk away from them, running against instincts to huddle and groom, but away from them and the stress hormones everyone was emitting, he could think a little clearer. 

"They're all wild-eyed," she said, disapprovingly, catcing hold of R, and turning her chin up.

"Mice, that's what happens when you get mice. Mice and tits, they are all nervy creatures. At least these won't shit themselves. Ya gotta sign here ma'am." 

The woman sniffed, and signed the sheet with a distracted flourish. "Very well, take them in - no, stop that-" she slapped at Q's hand that had been about to touch what looked like a keypad. "Badly trained too." 

"They're virginal, Ma'am," the driver said, aggrieved. "That means no training." 

He yanked at Q's collar, fingers under it twisting till he could get hold of the D-ring and clipped connector to it, adding it to the long chain running across all six of them, and then to the man's hand. "Where do I take them ma'am?" 

"Just follow me."

 

* * *

 

Because Q had wandered off from the group, he'd ended up being clipped to the end. It's better than being in front, he gets more time to look around, even if everything is in soft-blur. It's still more colour than he's used to, back in the natal nest he'd been brought up in, where everything had been mostly dark, light only when there was to be food, and soft twilight any time else. It had always been that way, for them; the bright light outside the car, and now here, in this new building, was different. He could see more, strange new shapes to go with the strange new smells and sounds. 

There were a lot of people. some like them, yes, he could smell it, but not the same litter, most definitely not the same dam. Probably not even the same breeder at all. 

He lingered enough, sniffing, his ears twitching and trying to catch the sounds and scents, that the chain tightened and yanked him along, stumbling a step after R, who squeaked and gave him a glare and a shot of annoyance in the air. 

He made pacifying sounds, ears swiveling down a moment, but then he paused again, to keep sniffing and poking. 

Maybe that's what saved him. 

He was touching a wall panel, wondering why it felt different from the tile next to it, when suddenly an alarm blared. 

"Level five alert," a woman's voice went, then several other languages. The voice was calm, but loud, and the others panicked. 

Q panicked too, jerking back, and then he fell over when the chain pulled, tangling his hand in it as he fell, banging hard onto his back hard enough to stun. It tangled in his hair too, and he cried out in distress, but the lights are all bright red and strobing, and that confuses his sight. His sense of smell is overwhelmed suddenly with panicked streams, and he couldn't BREATHE. 

His fumbling fingers grab at the chain, at the link, and suddenly the connector to his collar snapped open, somehow deformed by his weight and he could untwist, yank free. 

There were sounds and yelling, and Q sat up, trying to follow his siblings - when he heard a hiss. 

Hiss! Predator! 

And instantly he was on his feet and running. Away from the confusing, scary noises, away from all the new-wrong-things, and from the hissing sound. 

He broke out into the bright light, coughing, and headed to the car - when the ground suddenly disappeared. 

The sound hit him like a physical force, shoving him straight across the street, and cracked his head against a lamp post.

 

* * *

 

"Wakey wakey, little mouse," a voice crooned at him. 

Q curled up, trying to hide his face in his hands. That didn't sound like his dam at ALL. 

"Wakey," and suddenly the voice was right THERE next to his ear, and sharp teeth were biting on the tender shell of his ear, and Q yelped, jerking awake, smacking at the person biting at him. 

A large hand caught his wrist, twisting and pinning him down, and there was a weight straddling his chest, as an unfamiliar face peered down at him. "Ah, my pretty little pet's awake now." 

Q blinked fuzzily. 

He remembered being bought. Him and six of his siblings, though not all of them were his litter-mates. Delivered to - somewhere new, and then the weird way - explosion. 

"There was an explosion," Q said, wrinkling his forehead. "I - my siblings- " 

'Tsk, shhh, there's no one there," the man said, taking both of Q's hands in one of his broad hands to trace the wrinkles in Q's forehead. "There was no one there, the place was all rubble. All the smell of blood aah, yes." 

Q made a squeak of protest. There was something incredibly strange about the man's scent. Wilder. Thicker. 

Something almost like his, like his litter-mates but not... his head throbbed, and he didn't like the stranger's way of touching him, like this, overly familiar. And while this place was a comforting sort of dark, which was good. The overall scent of everything though, was filthy, damp, a complex layer of filth and waste. There was water moving in the background, like a trickling river, somewhere, something was dripping. 

"Stoppit stop touching me," he said, frowning more. 

"You're very pretty, so lucky," the man murmured. "You are, you know. So lucky. I could have left you where I found you, unconscious, looking so dead." He hummed, grinned at Q. "And then the wild dogs, they would have found you, torn you apart and eaten you, swallowed you up in little gulps. You, barely a mouthful." 

Q's frown deepened, and he felt himself twitch, tremble under the stress. "Stop touching me. take your fingers off me." 

"Or else? Little mouse, you should have a proper threat, you are not scary, no no no, if you don't have a threat -" 

Q scowled, and when the fingers traced down his cheek, he snapped his head to the side and BIT. 

The man yanked his hand out of Q's mouth. "I warned you," Q said, baring his teeth, and was startled by a sharp, bark of laughter.

It was loud, echoed in the room, like darkness in the furthest corner.

"Yes, yes you did." 

Q blinked, confused. Not expecting that kind of reaction at ALL. 

then suddenly the man slapped him. 

A hard, ringing smack over his ear and face, and Q cried out, head jerking to the side in shock. 

"And that, little mouse, is the last time you do it," He said, and then in a swift motion, stood up, hauling Q up to his knees. "You threaten me again, little mouse, you use your teeth," he leaned in, and Q could see his eyes, dark, huge, sincere and utterly mad. 

No. 

Rabid. 

"And I pull them out." 

Q jerked back, as a large finger traced down his face again, pressing against his lip, his teeth hard enough to feel the pressureagainst an incisor. 

Q tried to pull away, turn away, but the pressure followed.

"One," press, until it hurt, "by." Q hissed, a swallowed squeak. "One."

"Is that clear, pet?" 

Q could HEAR his tooth creak in the gum, feel it almost shift, and he nodded rapidly. 

"Good, good boy, good that we understand each other. You're such a clever boy, aren't you?" The man suddenly dropped Q's hands, and without the support, Q almost fell over; he dropped to his haunches, blinking. 

Then a hand was on his head, combing through his matted, tangled hair, and sliding over his softly furred ears. They twitched, and he squirmed, but the tightening grip on his hair stilled him. 

"What is your name, boy?" 

"Q," Q said, after a moment, tongue touching his aching tooth. The pain was fading, but the threat was there. 

"Q. Q - ah, one of those, lab pets, aren't you, to be trained and do pretty tricks, no name at all but a letter. I, I had a number, myself." And now the hand was patting Q's hair, soothing, large, tugging through the tangles and it would be soothing, except Q had finally figured out what was wrong with the man's scent. 

He wasn't a mouse. 

He was a rat. 

"I gave myself a name. I was not going to be a number," the man said - the rat - said, and there was something odd and crazy shining in his eyes. "No, no. I was going to have a name. I was going to be me. I -" he yanked Q up, by the hair, ignoring Q's squeak of protest, "I was going to be Raoul Silva, And I will not be a pet. I will OWN pets." 

He grinned at Q, all sharp teeth and fangs. Q quailed, his ears going flat against his head. "And you, my dear, sweet little mouse, you are my very first Pet."


	2. Cleanliness is a virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were things that Silva did that was incomprehensible, to Q, at least. 
> 
> * 
> 
> Wherein Q is a dirty, dirty boy, Silva is a Responsible Pet owner, and we have a surprise guest. See ending notes for a little more slightly spoilery warnings.

There were things that Silva did that was incomprehensible, to Q, at least. 

Silva spoke to a _lot_ of people, telling them to go off and do things - from what Q could judge, they were all human. All of them, horrid smelling too, smelling of sweat and feces and fear, and Q didn't like them, didn't want to be around them. 

Q didn't have a choice, however. Silva kept him leashed and constantly collared, the end of the collar wrapped securely in his fist, even as he conducted his business. Whatever it was. 

The rat remembered food, teasing Q with bits of meats and cheese even as Q felt ill and ravenous at the same time, even while talking to humans about supplies and drugs and cashflow. But he hadn't let Q _groom_. Being constantly collared meant that Q couldn't even shift into mouse form and groom himself, and he could _feel_ his hair and fur all matted. 

He was still in the same clothes he had been found in - soft little gown that was now torn, muddy and stained with other things Q didn't want to think about. 

"Poo," Silva said, when the last of the humans were gone, off to do something with laundry, clening and money. Q couldn't stop scratching at his ears, fidgetting, wanting desperately to be clean. "Such horrible things, working like this, isn't it? Aren't you lucky, my clever boy, you don't have to trouble your pretty head with things like this-" 

And Q squeaked when Silva hoisted him up into his lap, one arm around his waist and the other hand tugging into his hair. 

"Oh Poo you are such a filthy little thing," Silva said, screwing his face up in some sort of exaggerated comical disgust. "So dirty, do you not know how to groom yourself?" 

"I can't shift," Q said, trying not to squeak in pain at the thick fingers yanking through the knots in his hair. "Ow, ow that hurts, stop- " 

"You can't even brush your own hair, how am I supposed to allow you to shift, mm? You'd run away. Scoot, off, just like that, like a little mouse. Then I'll have to hunt you down, and maybe you fall off into the water and drown, mm?" 

"I'm not that stupid, I wouldn't run into the water -" 

"But you can't see at all, can you?" Silva grinned at him, suddenly. "Or maybe some big bad human will find you, take you back to his house -" 

"Maybe that's a good idea," Q said, sullenly. At least the rat had stopped trying to yank his hair out by the roots; instead he was now fondling Q's ears, big fingers and thumb rubbing over the soft fur. 

"Do you know what humans do to little mice like you, pet?" Silva said, yanking Q close by the ear. 

Then he was hissing into his ear, low, predatory. "They cut you up. Cut off your tail and see what medicines make it grow back. inject you with cancers and radiate you with poisons to see which of your organs fail, what colour your vomit is." 

What? 

"No, that's not -" 

"Starve you and then put you in mazes, till you pass out, all for a little bit of bread," Silva hissed, twisting Q's ear for a moment, then he was patting it, soothing the fur down with gentle fingertips. "You don't believe me?" 

Q shook his head, not wanting to believe that. No, why would that be? No one would waste so much money on pure lines of mice like him for such horrible deeds, right? 

Silva leaned back, and pushed his hair away. 

And then he could see why he had had to sniff out the rat's breed rather than see for himself. Under the blond hair, were little twisted stumps where his ears should have been. 

"They cut it off," Silva said. "And I was no older than you. Bigger, but I was just as young, new and stupid, and they cut my ears off. My brother had the growth gel. I was the 'control'." His smile was vicious - and he caught Q's wrist before Q could reach forward to touch, horrified. 

"That's, thats horrible," Q said, his ears flattening down. 

"So you're a very lucky boy," Silva said, shaking his head and covering his mutilated ears with his long hair again. "So lucky, aren't you? Now let's go have a bath, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

James snorted, leaning back in his chair. 

"No," he said.

"Don't be stubborn, James," M said, firmly. Not looking up at him. "This has gone on long enough. It's small time,for one, and two, it's domestic. We don't work with domestic." 

"The head of this might be domestic, but i've chased the lead all the way here from Hong Kong to Canada to here. It's _my_ hunt." 

M sighed and then sat up, but she didn't look him in the eye. not yet.

"And the head of this.. whatever it is, this nebulous organization, is local. We'll transfer the files to MI5; we need you on other cases, James."

"No. It's _mine_ ," James growled, the sound deep and round and starting to be vicious in the back of his throat. 

_Now_ she looked up at him, meeting his eyes. She was an old woman, small, tiny even, but her eyes were steel and when she straightened, James couldn't help but feel the instinctual need to tuck his tail between his legs and hunch. 

"Heel," she said, sharply. 

He whined. Felt his ears twitch.

"Heel, James, I will not ask a second time." 

James shivered at the command in her voice, resisting the urge to roll ovr and show her his belly. It was ridiculous, for one - it'd ruin his suit. Two, it was a stupid display, James was better trained than that.

"M," he said, but the whine was in the back of his voice, and he dropped his head, submissively. 

He could feel her glare for a moment before she thawed. "You have a month, then. After all you have so much downtime accumulated, you might as well use it."

James jerked upright, with a grin. "Thank you M."

"Now get out. Shoo." 

He grinned and bound out of the room. 

Good - he had a rat to catch.

 

* * *

 

At least there was clean water. 

Here, it was apparently where the storm drains emptied into, the water smelled cleaner, and it was far away enough from the smelly tunnels that Q felt less itchy. 

Silva dunked him into the water, holding him under despite his struggles, until his head was completely soaked, before letting him up. 

"I can - let me," Q said, pleaded, wanting to clean his own hair. 

But Silva just pinned him down under his knees, his chin barely held up above the water as he worked his hands into Q's hair with something foamy. it didn't smell like the usual soap that he had used since he was a pup - it smelled different, oddly flowery. 

"You're my pet," Silva said, crooning at him, and then pulling out a steel toothed comb. 

" _Ow_!" The teeth seemed to dig and tear at his scalp, and Q struggled, grabbed at Silva's calves and clawed at him. 

But Silva didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't care at all - just kept yanking the comb through Q's hair till it felt like half his scalp had been torn off. 

"There," Silva cooed, dunking Q under the water before Q could even start to think of protesting, and rinsing the soap off his hair. "All clean now, my sweet pet." 

Well, Q thought, as he gasped for air, his hair hanging wet and thick in his face. At least his hair _clean_ now.

He tentatively touched his hair, his tender scalp, glad to realise he still _had_ hair. 

"And now to clean the rest of you, you filthy thing," Silva said, cheerfully, and hauled Q into his lap before Q could squirm free. 

Even squirming and flailing, Q wasn't slippery enough to get free. Silva caught his arms up in the wet gown, pinning him on his chest, and started soaping him up with the same, oddly flowery scented foam despite Q's squeals and squeaks. 

"You are such a squirmy thing, like a worm," Silva grunted. "Stop it, pup, or else I will dock your ears." He bit the nearest ear - Q squeaked and went still, trembling at it. It wasn't painful, not yet, but it was... there. some sensation. 

And because he was staying still, the hands roaming over his body, slick and soapy, wasn't so bad. Wasn't as ticklish.

Silva hummed approvingly, and rubbed his hands over Q's ribs, his chest, and then his belly, and up again. Soothing warm circles. The water was cool, but Silva's hands were warm, and Q relaxed by increments. He wasn't sure when Silva stopped biting his ear - he was nuzzling into Q's hair instead, at the base of his ears, and Q made a low soft sound, leaning in against the other man. 

It was comfortable, easy enough to turn his head against Silva's shoulder, because it WAS cooler half out of the water like this, and Silva radiated heat. 

Warm, comfortable circles. Q exhaled, a soft, little contented sigh, half closing his eyes. 

And then the man's hand slipped down between his legs. 

"Wha-" Q jerked, a little, kicking up water. 

"Shh shh," Silva said, hand closing on Q's genitalia. Not tight enough to hurt, but something almost of a warning. "Just grooming, shh." 

Q whined a little, squirming. Silva grinned, and then mouthed at his ear, little, hot flicks of his tongue. 

"Wha-" confused, now, Q wasn't sure which one to protest, and then Silva wasn't gripping him. He was - stroking him, slick soap over his penis, while Q twitched - no, his hips jerked, surprised. 

"My sweet pet," Silva crooned, against his ear, licking the edge till his ears flicked, and warmed, filling with blood like he was hot. But it wasnt hot - just - Silva's breath, his fingers on his penis, and Q suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands. He needed to hold onto something. He felt like he had to, fumbling, twisting against the wet fabric of his gown. 

Silva chuckled, and sucked in an entire corner of Q's ear, tongue splaying against the cartiledge and it should tickle, it really should, except it sent a strange wave of heat straight to Q's groin and he gasped, hips jerking _up_ against Silva's fist, and it was all of a sudden, slick wet heat, everywhere, tight and hot and then he felt something seize, his belly clench up _tight_. 

"Such a _filthy_ boy you are," Silva chuckled, pulling his hand away, to examine - Q blinked, blearily. the strong musky scent of - something. Himself? 

Then Silva was rinsing it off in the water, and stroking his ear. Q made a soft sound, feeling oddly boneless, blinking, unfocussed and feeling like he was drifting.

And then Silva dunked him back in the cold water.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for a one-shot. God knows how long this will be - I do _not_ have a very good track record regarding longer fics, but we'll see how much it goes. 
> 
> Smut happens. Sort of. Dubious consent. Technically underage as Q is actually fairly young here - he's only just on the cusp of the age that males would be separated from females, because you know how mice get...


	3. Skyfall and Sewers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Hurrumph," Kincade grunted, and heaved himself into the front seat. "You're looking good, boy." Then he screwed up his nose. "And you smell like wet dog."_
> 
> In which we meet Kincade, we see Skyfall, and find out absolutely nothing about Silva's doings. And also that Q is a damsel in distress. 
> 
>  
> 
>  

Skyfall was his safe-house, but he didn't spend much time in it. 

As one of MI6's most accomplished pets, James spent a lot of time all over the world - rarely in the UK itself. There were some times when he'd spent in the Republic of Ireland, but someone as... distinctive as James was usually sent further afield.

However, the few times he got to stay in the UK, he liked to go up to the farm. 

It was technically MI6 - no pet could actually own property, and he could not, actually, stay in places other than his owner's. Since he was technically MI6 property, however, he stayed where his handler did, and his Handler stayed in Skyfall (which was, also, MI6 land, on the deed).

"Oy, Jimmy, my lad," said the old man, leaning on the old car, when James strode out to the gate, where the taxi had been willing to drive him but no further. 

James gave him an icy glare. 

The old man shrugged. "I'm too old for that to work on me, m'boy," he grunted, and opened the door, just as James reached for the handle. He huffed a laugh. "I'm honestly..." 

"I'm not a child anymore, Kincade," James said, mildly, and opened the door. "I can take care of myself." 

"And the last time you were here you were all banged up you spent three weeks wrapped up in splints in front of the fire," Kincade grunted, and shrugged, went around to the driver's seat. 

"Part of the job," James said. 

"Hurrumph," Kincade grunted, and heaved himself into the front seat. "You're looking good, boy." Then he screwed up his nose. "And you smell like wet dog." 

Considering that it was drizzling, and James had trudged up here in the rain, soaking his good wool trousers and shoes from where the taxi had dropped him off? James growled, just a little. 

"Now don't you sass me, my lad," Kincade said, starting the engine. "You're not fourteen anymore, you said so yourself. Naughty boys don't get walkies." 

James hunched down against the seat, and scowled into the greyish fog. 

Dammit. there was a reason why he didn't like it when Kincade was actually around rather than being there in name.

 

* * *

 

Skyfall was a big farm - there were more than one stream that ran across it. Kincade had blocked it off with some pastures, when James had informed him (and thus MI6) that the place seemed habitable, and herds sheep. There was a small barn that used to have a section for whelping bitches, but now was just filled with mildly incomprehensible farming tools, a tractor, bales of hay and guns. 

Well, the barn used to be smaller, anyway. 

Mornings were always bitingly cold, here, even with the morning fog and damp, which was a change from the city where he'd lived from ages zero to seven. Sometimes James thought he could actually _remember_ this place. It was really just wishful thinking though, and James didn't like it when his mind turned to that odd, wistful, nostalgic corner - useless, irritating, and mildly puppyish. 

On the other hand, Skyfall had all the delicious scents of living things: grass, sheep, birds and water, squirrels and rabbits, and he had always liked the smell of rain. On Skyfall, it smelled particularly strong, heady and vibrant, and once they reached the farmhouse, James was out the window , having shucked all his clothing in a neat pile (he had worn clothing he hadn't particularly cared for, knowing it was _Skyfall_ ) on the front seat, and bound off along the dirt path towards the paddocks. 

"You get mud all over the house, you're cleaning it!" Kincade hollered at him, but James paid him no attention, intent on the scent of fox he'd already caught. 

What James really liked about Skyfall was this: he could think better here, in the wide open spaces of the hills and paddocks, amongst the greenery and the smells, than in the smoggy, overcrowded streets of London. 

There had been the blowing up of labs, here and there. Not all of them in London - but all over the world. That, in itself, might not be anything important, but there had been something niggling. Other apparently non-related occurrences of smuggling, guns and laundering, computer networks shutting down... 

James didn't know what to think of it. But he was sure he'd tracked the perpetrator here. To the United Kingdoms. 

He paused, as the scent of the fox diminished into the distance, and then rolled over in the thick, wet grass. 

There had been something about the recent lab explosion - even MI6 had said it was a gas leak, and James hadn't had a chance to take a proper sniff.

But he had a feeling it was linked. 

He'll have to take a look at the site, and do a bit of hunting himself, a little bit of detective work, he thought. 

There was a flutter above him, and James was on his feet instantly. A grouse. 

He bit back a yip, ears perking, and was racing off after the fluttering motion. 

James tracked mud into the kitchen, but Kincade really had no point in getting annoyed - James had brought in a brace of rabbits and grouse after all. 

_And_ he cooked. 

So Kincade cleaned up the mud.

 

* * *

 

Q didn't mind going out above ground at night. The night time part was perfectly good. He liked that. It was safer in the darkness, though the city apparrently never went completely dark. There were plenty of smells up here, but that was the problem too. A lot of it was new smells - after spending a day in the sewers, curled up against Silva's thigh, with nothing to smell but rushing water, moss and damp brick, the exhaust fumes of cars, horses , people, and dogs and _cats_ was just far too worrying. 

But Silva didn't care what Q thought - he just dragged Q along with him, along the paths, and when people passed by, he flinched close to Silva. It usually made the man chuckle and wrap his arm around Q's skinny shoulders.

It shouldn't be a comfort, but it was.

They were out again, one night, when there was the sound of a dog baying.

"Bitch," Silva spat. "Right, we should get going." Q wasn't even sure what they were doing out - taking walks, perhaps, Silva had said _Off to take my pet for a walkie_ and Q had learnt not to argue, especially when he had his hand on Q's ears. Silva had stopped to talk to some people, in what appeared to be a laundromat, and then a very noisy place where people kept stroking his ears and smoking choking things and making Q cough and sneeze. 

But this seemed like an interruption of Silva's plans. 

Silva set off at a fast clip to the alley that housed the manhole they had used, when there was the slick sound of shoes on cobbles, and suddenly the alley was full of the scent of dog. 

"I wouldn't take another step further if I were you," the dog said, voice a low growl, the kind of growl that said _don't move_ and Q was suddenly very, very sure that they were in trouble. 

"Oh it's you," Silva said, "Police dog." 

"not just the police," the dog growled, teeth bared. "I know who you are. Blowing up labs around the world, masterminding weapon smuggling. Tiago. Also known as Silva. But really, you're just 71490." 

Silva's number. His past had caught up with him. "Don't you dare call me that," Silva hissed. 

"Batch number 005, Rat 71490," the dog said, with a smirk, sauntering up towards them, bringing his scent of dog with him. "Or can I call you 90 for short?" 

Silva snarled, his teeth sharp and bleached yellow in the weird lights of the alley, and then suddenly he was yanking Q along with him down to the manhole, slamming into the water below, and running. 

There was a bark, behind them, and t hen there was running behind them _too_. 

"Who is he?" Q gasped out, flailing along behind Silva. 

"Dog of the crown. Fucking MI6 -" Silva hissed. "Don't get any ideas, little mouse, he will eat you up, he's a Scottish terrier, he eats rabbits and rodents for breakfast." 

Silva knew the tunnels - and splashed through them without even stopping to think, dragging Q along because if he didn't he'd choke. 

And _die_. 

Q didn't want to die. 

Dogs had a good sense of smell. But the water had to confuse him - and Silva was heading towards the smellier tunnels, the sewage tunnels - soon everything would be overpoweringly sewage.

There was a loud snarl, behind him, and the tunnels bounced the sound around, echoing it strangely. Q squeaked in terror, and tripped over a grating. 

The leash tangled, yanked at him, and Q squealed in terror, trying to get it off before he choked. 

Silva hissed a curse, dropped the leash. But that one second of hesitation as he stopped to drop it, cost him. 

Suddenly the man was vaulting up from behind Q, leaping over his shoulder, and slamming into Silva. 

For all that Silva was a rat, he was a huge man too, and the sound of the two men hitting the ground was heavy, bone-breakingly loud. 

Q couldn't see what was going on very well, but he didn't need to really. The lighting here was dark anyway, all there was was sound and scent. There was the scuffling and Silva's hissing, and then Silva turned rat, a small black shape that suddenly slipped through the empty mess of clothes that the dog had hold of, and slithered out and darted out, claws on slick tiles. 

Q managed to sit up just in time to see the dog morph too, a blindingly bright shape leaping out of his perfectly pressed suit, launching after Silva's rat. 

The fight sounded more primal now - Q scrambled up, to follow, because he couldn't think of any other thing to do. 

The dog snarled, blood curdling, cornering Silva against a small hole in the brick, teeth snapping. And then Silva was lashing out, human and kicking the dog in the nose. The dog's whine was reflexive - because half a second later there was the man again, grabbing Silva's ankle and yanking him out, trying to break his leg. No, pin his leg, maybe, Q didn't know. 

It dissolved into a quick slash bite of fur and teeth - human, the dog had no way to protect his face, and Silva could claw at that with his fingers and fists, and as a rat Silva was slippery, a shape too small to easily grab hold of, and sharp teeth .

But as a human the dog had reach, and morphed easily from human to flying silky fur, a tornado of teeth and hair. The noise was incredible - the slash and clash of teeth against stone, slick scrabbling claws, and then there was the sharp scent of blood above that of sewage, Silva's scream, and the dog's snarl. 

Blood - whose blood, Q didn't know. But maybe it was time to get away. 

This was his chance to get away from Silva. 

He only managed a few steps before he collapsed, realising his ankl e was throbbing painfully. He'd twisted it, somehow, during the fall, and the fight had distracted him. 

"Shit," Q said. 

"So you do talk," the dog said, and Q squeaked, jerking back, almost falling into the water. 

A big hand caught him by the wrist before he did, though, and the dog spat something at his feet. A tail. 

Silva's tail. 

"You - S-Silva- " 

"He got away," the dog said, shortly. He smelled of blood and dog; Q didn't' know if the wetness smeared on his wrist was the dog's blood, or Silva's or just from the general wetness of everything here. 

There was light spilling in from a grating above, just enough for Q to catch the slick shadows of the dog - all scarred muscle, and piercing blue eyes. 

A predator's eyes. 

A _Dog's_ eyes. "He got away, he's got a rat's luck," he said, and rubbed his mouth with his other wrist. "Come along then, mouse." 

"Why? Why should I? I'm not -" Q shuddered. Was he hungry? 

The dog growled. his belly. 

Q whimpered, curling in on himself, wishing he could gt the collar OFF. 

"I'm hungry - my damn prey got away," the dog said, hauling Q up by the arm. "Come on." 

"I didn't do anything! I'm not tasty!" 

The dog stopped, and then barked a laugh. "Don't be silly. You're his pet aren't you? You must know something, you're evidence. And." he leaned in and sniffed Q's hair, grinned at him. 

His teeth were very white. 

"You smell very nice. I won't eat you. I don't eat mice, not enough meat. What's your name?" 

"Q," Q said, not sure he should be reassured by that. Other than the overwhelming scent of dog and blood and sewage, the dog smelled pretty good. Well groomed and some mild... musk under that. 

Safe, the scent said. 

Well. Safe for a dog. 

"That's not a name," the dog said. "That's a - not even a pet name." his nose wrinkled. "Q for quiet. Quiet little mouse." 

"I like Q," Q said stubbornly. "It's simple. What's _your_ name, dog?" 

The dog blinked at him, like he didn't expect a mouse to be so bitchy at him. He huffed a laugh. "My name? Bond. James Bond."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kincade takes no shit from upstart puppies.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a very flexible verse I have in my head. some people are genetically engineered (or demon-mated, or whatever) and end up with animal features and some the abiltiy to shift back and forth into animal forms. 
> 
> Humans being humans, the animal-humans aren't treated as people anymore, but as pets. As such they are bred for purposes (that I leave up to your imagination), and usually bred to type. Hence, there are pure-breds, those that can track their lineage of pure lynx all the way for five generations on either side, for showing, breeding, or for other dubious purposes. then there are those who breed them for the hell of it, 'fancy' new breeds or mixes. 
> 
> They can't really interbreed all that well though - mice and other rodents tend to have litters of tiny baby squeakers of up to nine (though not all survive, this isn't a very safe process), canines and felines tend towards smaller litters but larger offspring (again, not all survive, the usual is about two or three). Bird types tend to clutch two at a time, usually only one survives. 
> 
> Mixing them up can result in, for example, a mouse mother ending up with very large babies, in a large litter, which can kill her. Or the offspring are just not viable and they miscarriage. 
> 
> A fun, dystopic, slavery AU with added furry ears. :)


End file.
